Under a Red Sky

Under a Red Sky Read Online Free PDF

Book: Under a Red Sky Read Online Free PDF
Author: Haya Leah Molnar
folds.
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” Uncle Max asks.
    â€œI didn’t want you to stick a knife into Tata’s throat,” I whisper, without looking up at him. Everyone watches me in silence as I set the knives in their proper places at the table. When each of them has a knife and I’m back in my seat, Uncle Max taps his fork
on his glass to get everyone’s attention and addresses the room as if he were making an announcement over a loudspeaker:
    â€œFrom now on, no one is to speak about anything in front of the Child,” he says, his cheeks flushed as his glance catches mine. “Except about butterflies and flowers.”

THE HOUSE
    WE LIVE ON A QUIET, tree-lined street, wedged between two of Bucharest’s loveliest parks. Grandpa Yosef found the two-family house and rented the second-floor apartment shortly after the Communists nationalized all private property, including Grandpa’s businesses and the several houses he owned before the war.
    A Russian family with no children lives in the ground-floor apartment. I’ve been given strict orders by Aunt Puica never to converse with the Russians, as if that explains everything. They own a gray cat with yellow eyes that is always perched on their stoop, but the cat is off-limits too.
    â€œHaving the Russians downstairs is far from ideal,” Grandma Iulia reminds us every chance she gets. “But it’s a whole lot better than having to live with strangers inside our home. That would be like sleeping with the devil!”
    No one dares contradict Grandma Iulia, even though I know that there are days when my parents desperately want to move out and secretly talk about looking for better quarters. Mama and Tata never act on this dream, primarily because they know that, as soon
as we leave, the Communists will place strangers in the tiny bedroom the three of us share. This would put our entire family at great risk from informers and the Securitate, Romania’s secret police.
    â€œLook at what’s happened to Fanny.” Grandma Iulia’s voice interrupts the slurping sounds around the dinner table. “Her son and daughter-in-law moved out, and now my poor sister has to share her stove and her toilet with a couple of hicks from Bucovina, with such heavy provincial accents, Fanny says she’s not even sure that they’re speaking Romanian. The wife fries everything, so Fanny’s entire house now reeks of onions, garlic, and bacon fat!” Grandma wriggles her nose in disgust. “My sister’s clothes smell so bad that, no matter how many times she does the wash, she can’t get the cooking stench out. Fanny’s frightened that these people will denounce her for making slurs against the Party. She says she bites her tongue three times before she opens her mouth in her own home.”
    My parents are well aware that neighbors, colleagues, even friends and family members—especially children—often do become informers, intentionally or unintentionally. They roll their eyes at Grandma’s tirades, but it’s clear they’re in agreement with her, because they are so careful about every word that crosses their lips outside the house. At home, they let loose as if we’re safe. We all know that moving out has grave consequences, which is why virtually all families in Bucharest stick together, tight quarters or not.
    Still, Grandma Iulia never misses an opportunity to drive home her point.
    â€œIf they hold a grudge against any of you,” she says, shaking her soup spoon at us without explaining who they are, “they can report
you for saying something against the Party, and the Securitate is sure to pick you up in the middle of the night. Whether their accusation is true or not, you’re guilty. And may I remind you, from the place where the Securitate takes you, trust me”—Grandma stops in midsentence to make sure that her message has sunk in—“you
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